


Summer Wine You Taste So Fine

by coquet



Series: Match Made In Heaven (To Carry Out The Devil’s Plan) [2]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, John isn’t a good bf, M/M, Paul’s very drugged, This is an example of what not to do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 02:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20036167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coquet/pseuds/coquet
Summary: Paul finds out what’s in those fizzy drinks John gives him.





	Summer Wine You Taste So Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the wonderfully sung song Summer Wine by Nancy & Lee

Paul waits on the bed like the  _good boy _ John says he is. Kisses and fizzy drinks keep him docile, not truly in the right mental state to figure out what’s really going on. 

Paul doesn’t want John to get mad. Bruises embedded into his flesh are living proof of what happens when he loses his temper. There was a time he promised he would never hurt him like he does his wife. That was until she left and he was the only one who still wanted him. 

Feverish love is what he has for John, or at least that’s what his friends think. They see the results of John’s temper too, concern written over their faces as they try to understand why he stays. Maybe he’d leave if he wasn’t so dizzy all the time. 

He’s  _sick_ , John tells him, rocking him back and forth in his arms. He’s sick and John helps him. No one else would help him anyway, John is the only one who really cares about him. John knows what to do with sick dizzy people, and that’s tie them up and take their self control. 

It does cure him from his dizziness, no matter how bizarre the idea seems. 

John had went to work but by now he was surely coming back. He is the sole breadwinner between the two of them. Paul used to work before this sickness took a hold of him, leaving him in the hands of the only provider. His sickness only started recently, once John was single again and convinced him to move in with him a few weeks ago. 

_If_ he was lucid enough, he’d suspect that John was behind his sickness. Those fizzy drinks might not be curing him, but they are definitely a part of the problem. Paul has a waning rationality, however, so he just accepts what John gives. 

The front door opens, making Paul’s heart leap with joy. He gets off the bed and greets him as soon as he steps in. 

“Johnny! I’ve missed you,” Paul clings onto him, the only one keeping him grounded during his daze. 

“Hey, baby. You look healthy,” John mumbles into his hair. He shut the door and dropped his bag to properly take a hold of Paul. 

“I don’t feel that bad today,” Paul only feels spaced out and almost losing touch with reality, but it’s better than that mind throttling dizziness he usually gets. 

John hummed, rubbing Paul’s back. It’s crazy how the person who hurts you the most can also be the one to show you the most love. The bleeding and the bruises disappear behind rose tinted glasses. 

“C’mon, love, let’s get you some food. What do you wanna eat?” 

Paul released him, holding his hand instead. He isn’t hungry, but he knows denying food will get him in more trouble than it’s worth. 

“I dunno,” he admits, letting John lead him to the kitchen. Decision making is too much of a burden on him, giving up complete control helps the sickness, he’s told.

John turns to Paul, giving him that calculating look he hates: narrowed eyes and his lips pressed to a thin line. 

“You’re not hungry, aren’t you?” John asks, hand holding his squeezing a little too tightly. 

He fucked up. John absolutely _hates_ when he lies. Lying to him was equivalent to lying under oath, there was severe consequences. 

All he can do is shake his head and avoid eye contact, too scared to verbally tell him the truth. His mouth is dry and his heart is beating like he’s ran a marathon. He hasn’t been caught lying for so long, he was doing so well, and now he’s going to get hurt over lying about being hungry. 

“Macca, look at me.” 

Paul winces. How pathetic he’s become, scared to death over a simple command. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you. Look at me, Paul,” John sounds soft. Like after they have sex and he remembers that Paul likes affection. Maybe Paul’s fear makes him physically sick, that’s why he doesn’t like to see it. 

Paul dares to look up, staring him straight in the eyes. Taking the bull by the horns, facing his problem head on. They shouldn’t be like this, _normal_ couples aren’t like this, but then again he fell for John because he was so distant from normality. This is a lesson from God, to teach him that going for the wild ones doesn’t turn out alright. 

“I love you. You’re the only person I have left,” John sounds choked up, leaving Paul to wonder what happened to him. “_Promise_ me that you won’t leave me,” he begs, taking Paul’s hands in his. 

“What’s going on?” Paul feels scared for another reason now. He doesn’t like how defenseless John is, putting the pressure on him to make the right decision. 

“People want to take you away from me. Law enforcement is gonna be here soon,” John is frantic. Paul finally notices how red his eyes are, he’s been crying. 

Paul shakes his head, hugging John to his chest. “I can’t leave. I’m sick. They’re going to see that I’m sick and let me stay,” he explains for the both of them. It’s better than the alternative outcome. They shouldn’t think about that. Paul can’t think about that. 

“_Oh_, _Paul_,” John sobs into his chest, holding onto him like his life depends on it. “It’s a lie! Everything’s a Goddamn lie, don’t you see?” 

“John you’re just stressed out. I won’t be taken away,” Paul comforts him, running his fingers through his hair. It’s a lie. He’s living a lie. A lie John created for him out of love. 

John slowly pulls himself together, sniffling a few times before straightening himself out. He sighed before turning to the cupboards digging around for something. He sets down a prescription bottle filled with orange capsules, sliding them to Paul. 

“I’ve been giving you these. They’re muscle relaxers, pretty strong ones. You aren’t sick,” John confesses. 

Paul picks up the bottle with a shaky hand. This is the cause of his sickness. The fizzy drinks are laced with Amrix. Instead of being mad (at the moment, he was too weak), he feels relieved. He _isn’t_ dying. 

“Why are you telling me this now?” Paul asked. There was plenty of time from when he started to drink those drinks to now. 

John shrugged. “So you won’t look stupid when the cops come. I’d rather me tell you than them,” he reasoned, palms flat against the island counter. 

“What now?” 

“We wait.”

And that’s what they do. 


End file.
